


thought you ought to know

by theo_aurel



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, alcohol mentions?, basically it's a s4 happy ending, jon is a giggly drunk fight me on this, someone catch the poetry reference PLEASE, well really angst with a happy ending but mainly fluff fhdjfkhj, yeet yall this is Pure Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theo_aurel/pseuds/theo_aurel
Summary: the lonely is no more; what happens next?





	thought you ought to know

**Author's Note:**

> the discord wanted fluff, who am i to deny them?

When Martin wakes, in darkness, he panics.

Now this isn’t too much of an odd occurrence - being trapped by worms for two weeks will do that to you.

This time however, it’s not caused by nightmares of worms burrowing deep into his eyes and stomach, biting and gnawing and writhing inside his flesh, burying down into the bone until he is just cavities and holes through which the light shines through.

It’s not even from dreams of a not-friend replacing memories and images and photographs until the old person is gone - forgotten by _him_ \- forever and he didn’t notice, he didn’t see that the old friend was dead, the first one to die, and no-one has the ability to mourn her properly.

The cause of the panic is also not the far too common thought of a malleable circus under a malleable house; a mannequin dancing cut from strings of her own making; of yet another friend lost in an explosion of anger and dynamite, crushed under the twisted faces of people contorted into strangers.

It’s not even a cause from his own mind. (The dreams of his mother’s hatred still bother him, but they’re less now, almost. Some stay dead after they die.)

It’s from the feeling of a _thing_ laying across his chest - tight, constricting, all together too much like the press of fog separating him from reality for so long that he immediately jolts upwards, dislodging the arm -

Oh. It’s an arm.

Oh.

That makes more sense.

“Martin? What - what are you doing?” A croaky voice mumbles from his side, still slurred from sleep. A hand, reaching up to hold his - a hand covered in worm scars and a red-raw burn mark - moves instead to trace the patterns of freckles on Martin’s cheek, still wet from tears and sweat.

Martin shudders and shifts away, throwing the sheet off him - he can still feel the piercing numbness of fog surrounding him, Martin needs space, he needs to get out.

“Give me a minute - go back to sleep, dear.”

The petname slips out of nowhere (except Martin’s daydreams) but Jon doesn’t seem to notice, instead staying put, his arm still reaching towards Martin.

He gets out of bed - Jon’s bed, he remembers, in his small dusty flat in Clapham - he’ll make some tea, tea always helps - and walks out of the bedroom.

Martin remembers Jon pointing out the kettle last night, as he giggled (Jon giggles when he’s tipsy, he remembers with a soft smile) over missed opportunities and subtle gestures finally making sense.

He takes a chipped blue mug and starts to boil the kettle. As Martin searches through the cupboards for the tea he pointedly ignores the mess of takeout packages from last night. That’s a problem for later.

He finds the tea still in its packaging next to an array of out-of-date spices - _seriously, Jon?_ \- and makes himself a cup of tea. As an afterthought, he takes down a second mug for Jon, but doesn’t pour the water in it yet.

When Martin walks over to the (barely-stocked) fridge to find some milk, he notices a figure standing in the doorway. His first instinct is to run and hide, despite the voice in the back of his reminding him _the front door didn’t open, you didn’t hear any footsteps outside, no-one followed you back here, both of you checked. _

It’s only when Martin has backed himself up against the fridge, brandishing the milk bottle like a weapon that he realises who the figure actually is.

It’s Jon, still half-asleep, wrapped in his_ hand-me-down quilt, it was my mother’s_. His wavy hair is flattened on one side from sleeping, and there’s a thin line of spittle dried to the side of his cheek he hadn’t fully wiped away. Only now does Martin realise just how hopelessly, desperately he is in love with Jonathan Sims. Standing in a near-empty kitchen, almost dead on his feet, Martin still thinks Jon is the most beautiful person in the world. He would do anything for Jon, always would do. Here is a man who deserves so much better, but for tonight, he’s chosen to stay with Martin, and that’s all he can ask.

Jon mumbles something, so Martin moves closer. Before long Jon’s arm slowly twines its way around his waist, and Martin can make out what he’s saying.

“Come back to bed, Mar. I missed you.”

Well.

Who is Martin to deny that, as images of an early breakfast, awkward goodbye and yet another day of avoiding each other at the archives slip away like morning fog in the light of the sun.

As soon as he gets back under the covers, Jon immediately latches on to him - leg thrown over his hip, arm over his chest, head buried in the crook of Martin’s neck. It’s funny, he never expected Jon of all people to be so affectionate. Martin doesn’t mind it though. He definitely doesn’t. Martin had waited so long for Jon that he’d given up on ever even seeing him again, especially after Martin became entangled in the whole Peter Lukas situation. However plans occasionally work, and now Lukas is lying dead and decomposing in the tunnels, and Martin is still here, attempting to run away from everything he wanted for a long time.

He can’t remember last night very well - he knows there was a ‘party’ in the archives to celebrate their win, and Jon had stopped by Elias’ - Martin’s, now - office to ask if Martin would perhaps, if he has time, stop by?

Who was Martin to deny that, either.

The party, or what he can remember of it, was quite fun. Melanie had dragged Georgie along, saying it was as much her victory as any of theirs, and Helen made her (customary) dramatic entrance. Martin had spent most of it tucked in the corner, sipping a beer Daisy had pressed into his hands as he walked in. He had attempted to apologise for - everything, really - but she waved it off and hugged him: “We can’t change the past, Martin. Let’s leave all that behind us.”

The others had gradually made their excuses, and disappeared into the cold (fogless, Martin reminded himself, he’ll see them soon. They haven’t gone) night until it was only him, Jon and the gentle whirring of a tape recorder in the empty room.

(It was a bitter reminder, the tape recorder. They had defeated one foe but still didn’t understand the first part of the mystery.)

They had both tried to speak at the same time, rehearsed apologies on the tip of Martin’s tongue, but Jon was suggesting _takeout, maybe? From the Indian place near my flat. We can talk there - if you want to, I mean. I’d get if you didn’t, truly - I can drop you home - you live in Stockwell, right? It’s not too far from me - I don’t mind_.

Martin realised that he was in fact hungry, so accepted Jon’s invitation. He definitely didn’t feel like he was walking on air when Jon said he wanted to talk, he didn’t. Or feel like smiling so hard his face hurt when he realised Jon meant it.

They didn’t, in fact, talk at Jon’s flat. Instead, apologies mixed with reassurances on the near-empty Thursday night tube, and glances in the neon glow of red signs proclaiming two-for-one deals led to a kiss in the spotlight of a streetlight under a bus stop.

And another kiss, and another and another until they were sitting in front of a late night documentary on Henry Lomb (an optician, ironically) on a sagging couch, Jon half in Martin’s lap. The takeout had long since been eaten or left till the morning on the cracked table in the kitchen, cans picked up from the off-licence on the corner thrown lazily at the bin.

He can’t remember which of them had suggested moving to the bed - _“not in that way, Martin, I’m - I’m asexual, by the way. I understand if you don’t want -”_ “That’s okay, Jon. Let’s get to bed.”

Which led to them being curled up in Jon’s too-small bed, limbs awkwardly holding each other - but with the certainty that the other is tangible, won’t disappear <strike>for the time being</strike>, they aren’t Lonely anymore and they don’t care if all the Eyes in the world are watching them.

Which led to them sleeping, and oh. The nightmare. God, Martin really messed up. Their first night together and Martin’s stupid brain just had to react like - _that_.

Whilst Martin is lost in thought, he catches the tail end of a muted whisper.

“What did you say, Jon?” He says, hand coming up seemingly of its own accord to stroke Jon’s hair.

Jon answers from where his head is buried in the base of Martin’s neck: “I-I was just saying that - I love you. I love you so much. I thought you ought to know.”

Martin’s hand stills, processing what Jon has just said in disbelief.

Jon takes no notice of this, instead burrowing comfortably into Martin and falling asleep again. Huh. He must have been really tired.

It’s not something he was expecting to hear, if Martin’s honest. He loves Jon, known he has for a long time, and vaguely recognised that Jon must at least like him somewhat if the events of tonight are to be believed.

Still, this feels like a better victory than killing Lukas a hundred times. Some would say it’s selfish - taking more joy in a few short sentences than saving the world yet again. Both of them would have said so, before. But Martin finds he doesn’t care about the world anymore - he’s got Jon, and Jon has him, and both of them have a chance to finally be happy.

So Martin remains, content in a web of sheets and limbs, and presses a kiss into Jon’s hair.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> fhdkjfhdskj hope y'all enjoyed!!! im @ceccilpalmer on tumblr, and if you see me on the discord (cecil with the bi pride flag) come and say hi!!!
> 
> (also hfjkshj please comment if y'all wanna i need validation)


End file.
